Veela
by Princess Alyra
Summary: Everyone assumed that to be a Veela meant only to have unnatural allure. No one ever looked deeper into the nature of these creatures. They didn't stop to consider that beauty comes with a price...
1. Prologue: Human

This story isn't going to be extremely long; there will be somewhere around eight chapters, and the chapters themselves will be longer than this but never more than a couple thousand words. I would love to hear what you think of it, so if you get the chance, please review!

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_Losing self in myself,  
__Inner demons make demands  
__-Reclusion, by Anberlin_

Everyone takes for granted that it's a blessing. There's no hiding it, it shows in their eyes when they look at me, or at one of my kind - it's either awe or envy in their pointed stares. Never once have they questioned what goes on inside us, inside _me. _They put it up to superficiality, assuming it's human nature for a beautiful girl to act this way.

It's not human nature. It's not even human.

I've learned to hide it well enough that most people, even the ones who know me well, would never guess the inner turmoil I've put up with since the day I was born. I learned control from my mother, whose years of practice have created a mastery that I doubt I'll ever achieve.

No one can imagine how difficult it is to restrain the urge to cringe at the sight of disfigurement, of blemishes, of any type of imperfection that might mar the human body. Seeing past physical flaws is like trying to see through a wall. Try it sometime; tell me how it goes.

They say this burden lessens like any other trait of our kind as the generations pass. If that's true, I can't imagine how my grandmother felt. Mother says Grand-mére Delacour was openly critical. She didn't try to resist the beast inside her, the creature that made all flaws repulsive. It's the part of me I hate, the part that makes me wonder how anyone could be this judgmental of their own accord. Call me a hypocrite, but it makes me furious to think of how shallow some people can be, judging others for their looks. _I _can't help it; it's technically not even me.

My motives for wishing that everyone could be beautiful aren't entirely selfish. If everyone was beautiful, no one would have to hear the scathing remarks about their looks. The world would be easier with no reason to fear showing your face.

I've seen it in my friends back in France; they feel like it's their fault they're not as pretty as I am. They wonder how other people see them when they're standing next to me. It's not the world's opinion they should fear. It's mine. I am more likely to view them in a negative light than anyone else they will ever meet.

It's _not _a blessing, this creature that I am, this part-human beast. I would rather be anything but what I am. Honestly, given the choice, I would rather have been born ugly. At least then I couldn't criticize. I wouldn't look at my face in the mirror, only to have to look away into the world. Looking down at my husband, I wouldn't have to choke back the horror or swallow the dull pang of disgust. Instead of pretending everything was okay, everything would be.

And no one will ever know what goes on inside me, inside every Veela in the world. No one knows of the affliction that comes with our grace, beauty, and charm. No one understands that when we look into a human face, we can see every blemish, every disproportion, however faint or microscopic. I'm the only one that knows of the monster inside that yearns for beauty and screams at the sight of anything else.

No one acknowledges the pain I feel when I see them.


	2. Imagine

Here's the first real chapter. Let me know what you think! I take all forms of feedback. :) And in regards to Fleur's accent, which is something I've been asked before - I'm not writing it in because it's from her point of view, and thus she wouldn't hear her _own _accent.

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_Gravity release me  
__And don't ever hold me down  
__-Life in Technicolor II, by Coldplay_

"_But he was a very handsome little b-boy… always very handsome… and he was g-going to be married!"_

_Even as my insides turned to ice, heat rose to my face. How could she guess that the sight of my fiancé's distorted face made me sick to my stomach? Before, he had been a relief to look at, with a face that wasn't as much of an eyesore as most. Now… now he was worse, so much worse. A different kind of sickness washed over me, a guilt that I was so horrified about his face when really, I should have felt lucky that he was still alive at all. _

_Could I still do this? I scrutinized Bill's face closely, trying to remember what it had looked like before the attack. With a sinking heart, I realized I couldn't. The damage was there, and nothing would fix that. _

_I owed him more than this, though. After all, his looks weren't the reason I had agreed to marry him. They made it easier, certainly, but my love for him went deeper than that. For his sake, I had to believe my love went deeper than that…._

Today is already not going all that well. The first thing I discover when I wake up is that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and that nasty little goblin Griphook are gone. I'm not sorry for the goblin's departure - he's far from polite, not to mention far uglier than I can stand to ignore - but as for the other three… they were safe here. Seventeen years old, and they willingly left their safety for the sake of fighting the Dark Arts with no one to protect them.

I close my eyes, trying to keep my thoughts from traveling in the direction I know they want to take. Dean and Luna are both fit enough to leave whenever they want to. Ollivander, on the other hand, still needs care. If Dean and Luna decide to go to Muriel's to be with Ginny and the other Weasleys, it will be me, Bill, and Ollivander. Bill, with the scars on his face that stand out like a beacon. Ollivander, whose eccentric appearance is enough to frighten someone who doesn't have Veela blood.

It's been nice having more people in the house, people without hideous blemishes… That's not to say that the children are free of large flaws, but it's not quite the same. _They _have perfectly common flaws, aside from Harry's scar, but most of the time its hidden beneath his unruly hair.

Luna saunters into the room, eyes wide as though she's been awake for hours. I like Luna. Her personality is enough to distract me from even thinking about looks while she's talking.

"The others are gone," she comments dreamily before I can say anything. "I thought they might be up to something. They've been spending a lot of time alone together, talking."

It's a shame. The girl is very observant, and could probably be a very brilliant witch if she wasn't always mentioning the weird fantasies her father dreamed up. I suppose she is quite clever underneath it all. Bill says she's a Ravenclaw, which according to him is the house known for intelligence.

She hums a little as she helps herself to some of yesterday's leftover pancakes, doing a heating charm in a sing-song voice as though the spell is part of her tune. She really pushes my willpower at times. It is extremely difficult not to raise one's eyebrows at her behavior. I have to let it slip through somehow, though, so I settle for a small smile.

"They'll be all right, you know," Luna says, cutting off her own hum. I eye her quizzically. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I could tell you were worried about them."

Again, she seems to notice things written in my expression that most people wouldn't pick up on even if I was trying to make them see. It's an eerie but oddly comforting realization to know how difficult it is to hide something from that girl. Even I don't quite understand my affection for her, but somehow I find myself wanting her to stay for less selfish reasons than wanting her protection.

I haven't eaten yet, and I don't plan on it this morning. There's an unsettled feeling in my stomach that I can't shake off, a feeling of dread. I can't help but think that today is going to end much worse than it started. I'll have to take extra care not to let Luna see. The only way I can think of doing this is by pushing the thought out of my own mind, so I busy myself instead with happier thoughts.

I'm living, if not quite the one I've always dreamed of, a fairly good life. If I close my eyes, I can forget the war and lose myself in the rush of the sea outside. When I was young, I never considered leaving France. In fact, it wasn't until the Triwizard tournament, and my encounter with Bill Weasley, that England began to look like a prospective home.

Even despite the struggles that come with marrying a human man, it's not too hard to be happy with him. I can concentrate on his eyes and everything feels all right. I lose myself in him to make the rest of the world disappear for those fleeting moments.

"I am not worried," I tell Luna firmly, trying to make myself believe it as well as her. "I know they can take care of themselves. Goodness knows they have had practice!" I laugh and toss my hair back, turning away so she can no longer read what I truly think.

Bill is the next to wake up, strolling into the kitchen with a yawn and kissing me on the cheek. It used to bother me that he doesn't kiss me on the lips in the morning, until finally he explained that he's trying to save me from his morning breath. I haven't complained since, because I'm guessing that gesture is much sweeter than his breath would be.

He looks around the kitchen, frowning slightly. "Where are Harry, Ron, and Hermione?" he asks, peering out the window as though he expects to see them sitting out on the rocks overlooking the sea. "Their beds are all empty."

"They are gone." I don't bother trying to ease the blow; is there any good way to tell your husband that his brother and his brother's friends have run off into danger again? "They left before any of us were awake this morning."

Bill blinks, and it seems to take forever for his eyes to reopen. He shakes his head, gripping the counter tightly with his hands. "I knew they would do this," he mutters bitterly, resignedly. "I knew they would take off running when we weren't looking. And Griphook? His bed was empty as well. Has he gone with them?"

"He is _gone_, certainly, but who knows if it was with them or not!"

He groans quietly, a sound that would suggest immense pain of some sort. "They've made a deal with him, I know it," he sighs. "I tried to make Harry see sense about goblins, but I don't know if he took it to heart. The thing is, I don't know what they've asked Griphook to do for them. If it's anything to do with Gringotts…"

"Surely they would not be foolish enough to try something at Gringotts!" I burst out. The very thought is laughable. The only thing I can imagine they might do at Gringotts that requires a goblin's help would be breaking in… but even those three aren't that delusional.

"Wouldn't they?" Bill asks grimly. "And what else could they possibly need Griphook for? There must be something there that they need… a secret weapon against You-Know-Who, maybe. Even with Griphook's help, though, they've got no chance! There's a reason the bank has a warning on its door. You can't possibly break in, and it'd be suicide to try. They're going to be killed."

My heart wrenches at the emotionally wounded look on his physically wounded face. He expects his brother to die today. There's nothing I can say that will help; every time a few words of comfort rise to my lips, I realize they would be a lie. I can't bring myself to lie to him. Is it better, I wonder, to give false comfort or to let someone go on with their rightful misery? I believe the latter. All I do, in the end, is rub his back gently in a way that I hope expresses how sorry I am.

I can't tell by the slightly deadened look in his eyes whether he understands or not.


	3. Galleons

Special thanks to _Dessers_ for the kind review! It's always appreciated! :) Here's chapter three - enjoy.

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_I hope there is a way  
__To give me a sign you're okay  
__-Memories, by Within Temptation_

I try not to get too annoyed by the Wizarding Wireless that has been playing constantly in the kitchen today. I know Bill is waiting for news about the deaths of the three kids who attempted to break into Gringotts, but at the same time I have to wonder if there will _be _any news. It's not as if the official press cares about letting the wizarding world know what's happening, and I can't imagine how _Potterwatch _could get a hold of the information, at least not so soon.

I don't tell Bill my doubts. He's a down-to-earth person, and I know it, but this is different. I could probably make him see reason if I put any effort into it at all, but I feel like it will only hurt him more. This brings about a new philosophy, I suppose. Better to let someone go on waiting for something when you know it won't come, or convince them that they're wasting their time? I can't help but do the former, even when I know the latter might be kinder in the end. I'm glad Luna went off to do who-knows-what in her room. She would be much blunter about the situation.

Dean is awake now, and he too is sitting by the Wireless, listening for any news that he might be able to learn about his friends. He seems a bit less expectant than Bill. I think he shares my secret doubts. I've considered that maybe Bill does as well, that maybe he is only pushing them aside in the hopes that he's wrong.

Suddenly he darts out a hand and turns the volume up from an irritating background noise to just a bit louder than average conversation. "Fleur, I think this is it!" he gasps, and the look on his face is mingled anticipation and dread. No matter what he hears on the radio, he's going to be disappointed.

"…recently broken into by a witch and two wizards, believed to be led by Harry Potter himself," says a familiar voice. Bill must have the Wireless tuned to _Potterwatch, _because I will swear on everything I hold dear that the disembodied voice filling my kitchen belongs to Lee Jordan. "If that's true, then we can only assume that the other two were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Way to show some enthusiasm for the cause, Harry. And now if I ever want to indulge myself with someone else's gold, I know exactly who to ask for help!"

I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime while Lee was talking, my heart nestled uncomfortably into a spot in my throat. It might not bother me as much as much if it wasn't pounding furiously as well. Lee is making it sound as if… as if Harry, Ron, and Hermione are still alive. There is no trace of sorrow in his voice at all, nothing to suggest that this is a less than happy news report.

"As if breaking into Gringotts wasn't spectacular enough on its own, I've heard they escaped on the back of a _dragon_," Lee continues, and my beliefs are confirmed. They're all still alive. I smile slightly, knowing for a fact that a dragon won't pose much of a problem to Harry. I watched him battle a Hungarian Horntail when he was fourteen; I feel positive he won't have any trouble with one now, especially with Ron and Hermione to assist him. "Of course, we all knew Harry had a fondness for flashy battles and escapes, but he's really outdone himself this time…"

Bill leans over and turns off the radio. Wordlessly I reach out to hug, letting myself fall into him and him into me, not sure whether to laugh or cry from relief. I start doing a little bit of both, and once I've started it's hard to stop. It creates a very unattractive noise, but for once, I can hardly be bothered to care about that. Only one thought permeates my mind. _They're alive._ It's so much more than I dared to hope for.

I open my eyes, which I had squeezed shut in an effort to stop the tears, and peer through Bill's hair. Dean is leaning against the counter now, looking as relieved as I feel but awkward as well, like he doesn't want to intrude on a family moment. I beckon him slightly with my head. He cautiously edges toward us, and I put my arm around him.

"I've known Harry, Ron, and Hermione for years," he says. "It would have killed me if something happened to them."

From what I know of Dean, he's never been part of the inner circle surrounding Harry Potter and his closest friends. They've shared a dorm and lots of laughs with each other, but Dean seems to be more of an afterthought. The friend whose company you enjoy but don't seek out. I can also see that it doesn't bother him. He knows where his closest relationships lie, and yet he would still react to the deaths of Harry, Ron, or Hermione like any good friend would. It's that very characteristic that makes me thankful he's here right now. He's not intruding on a family moment; he's part of one.

There's a long moment of silence. No one moves; we just stay frozen in place, Bill's arms wrapped tightly around my waist, my head buried in his shoulder, and my arm encircling Dean's back because his shoulders are too high to reach from a sitting position. The only sounds are our breathing, which in my case is still slightly heavy from the lump in my throat, and the waves crashing against the rocks outside. When we first moved here, it was irritating, the constant noise from the lake. Now I'm glad that no matter how alone I am, there will almost always be the faint noise of water lapping against stone, and I will never have to endure a silence so complete it might deafen me.

Dean, the awkward look back in place but accompanied with an air of surprise, is the one to recall us to reality. "Hang on… my pocket's gone warm… Could it be…?"

He digs around in the pocket of the jeans we lent him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration until he pulls out a closed fist. He opens it expectantly, and sitting in the center of his palm is a galleon. I stare at it blankly, wondering how in the name of Merlin a galleon could have called attention to itself by means of heat. Dean, however, seems to have learned something by looking at it and lets out an odd little noise. My own examinations are fruitless.

"Look," he says, his voice trembling with barely suppressed excitement, "I'm really grateful that you let us stay here after we were rescued, but Luna and I are leaving."

There's a pause. "Leaving?" I echo, briefly holding on to the hope that there is a different meaning to the word that I just haven't learned yet. "To go where?"

"Hogwarts," he says brightly. I can't help but cry out, but no one takes any notice, for at the same time, Luna appears at the bottom of the stairs, also holding a galleon. What is with all the galleons? "I take it you got the message, Luna?"

"Oh, yes!" she chirps. I wince. I can't help but feel a little left out. Bill looks like he's keeping up with this strange occurrence with a lot less difficulty than I am. Between galleons, running off to Hogwarts, and a definite excitement in the younger witch and wizard, I don't know what to think. Dean and Luna don't appear to care enough to remedy my bewilderment, however.

I sweep my hair to one side out of habit and give them both the sternest look I can muster. "And _why_ exactly are you running off to Hogwarts? You are safe here! Why would you want to leave?" The words are almost an echo of what I told Harry, and it is immediately clear that they would have the same effect, or lack thereof, on Dean and Luna.

"That's why we have to leave," Dean explains, shifting his weight to one side and looking very much like he would like to get going rather than sit and explain it to me. Still, it would be quite unlike him to run off without an explanation like Harry and the others did, and his patient nature wins out on his urgency. "These galleons are a way for members of a club at school to communicate. Neville's just said that Harry, Ron, and Hermione have turned up in the Room of Requirement. That can only mean that there's going to be a fight. Luna and I have to join them."

I don't know what the Room of Requirement is, but I don't have to for the rest of it to make sense. "But it is too dangerous!" I exclaim, glowering at Bill to support me. "I could not stop the others from going, but I will not let you go too! You cannot safely Apparate onto Hogwarts' grounds-"

"Not on the _grounds_, but the bartender in the Hog's Head lets us-"

"-You are far too young to be part of this war-"

"We already _are _a part of it-"

"-And I will not let you rush off to your deaths!"

Forget my comparison of this conversation and the one I had with Harry; if it was Harry standing there, I have a feeling he wouldn't take it nearly as well as Dean. Dean doesn't so much as glare at me. Instead he murmurs quietly, "I'd rather die than live in a world ruled by You-Know-Who."

He touches Luna's elbow lightly and together they stride to the door. As Dean pulls it open, I open my mouth to call out, but Bill puts his hand on my shoulder. "Let them go," he whispers, gently running his fingers through my hair. "They know what they're doing."

I scowl, trying to hide my concern, but Dean and Luna took the opportunity to escape during my momentary distraction. My body begins to shake of its own accord, and I lean against Bill for support. I can truly appreciate now how Bill feels knowing that everyone he loves is active and in danger in this war. It seems unfair that while my family is safe in our old house in France, his have to check their wards every day to ensure Death Eaters can't break in.

And suddenly, even though I hadn't really been considering any options, or that I _have _options, my mind is made up for me. "Bill," I say, standing straight and looking him in the eye. Studying the scars that mar the rest of his face, my resolve is strengthened a hundredfold. "I could not stop them from going… but we must go, too."

A grin spreads slowly until it lights up every single one of his features. He takes my head in his hands and plants a kiss in the very center of my forehead. "Somehow you make me love you more every day," he declares. I smile back, hold tight to his arm, and together, Bill guiding the way, we Disapparate.


	4. Approaching

Here's chapter four! Let me know what you think. :) Also, I only have one more pre-written chapter, but hopefully the sixth will be done without too much delay. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, or alerted so far!

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_This night's almost over  
__- First Date, Blink-182_

I straighten up, brushing the dust off my robes, to see our surroundings. The building, presumably the inside of the Hog's Head, the pub Dean mentioned, is small, filthy, and packed with people. There is Remus, Molly, Arthur, Kingsley, and Tonks, all of whom look serious as they talk to the long-bearded man whom I take to be the pub owner; even bright and cheery Tonks has a small frown creasing her brow. I don't approve of that girl. The way she always changes her appearance makes my head spin, even though it's easy enough to pick out the distinguishing features of her face.

Looking thoroughly uninterested in what the adults are discussing, Fred and George sit with their friend Lee Jordan in a corner, talking animatedly about a new product they're working on for the shop. Fred has a small, neon blue bit of plastic in his hand. George grasps the other end and pulls; a scream like a banshee rattles some of the glasses resting on the pub shelves, but otherwise nothing happens. Fred's shoulders droop slightly in disappointment.

"FRED! GEORGE!" A harassed-looking Molly stomps over to them, hair sticking out oddly and face a delicate shade of red. It is far from attractive. "This is _not _the time-!"

"Now, Molly, we need to focus on the matter at hand," Remus says gently, laying one hand on her shoulder and using the other to restrain her from murdering her twin sons. "Let's not waste time fighting those who are not our enemies."

She scowls briefly at Fred and George again, who for once in their lives look somewhat guilty for the distraction they caused, and returns to converse in a low, furious voice to the pub owner and the other Order members. "It's not like that was what we meant for it to do," Fred mutters.

Ginny is here as well, sitting with her elbow on one of the tables and her head resting in her palm. Luna is across from her, and Dean is next to Luna. "I want to get into the castle," Ginny hisses in frustration. "I didn't come here just to sit around and-"

"Then let's _go_," Dean urges, standing up and looking down at her. "Luna told me you have a way into the castle from here. Why not use it? Or will your mum not let you?"

"Whether my mum will let me or not is beside the point!" Ginny exclaims fiercely. "Fine, then, while they're all busy." She strides over and jabs Fred in the side. "Come on, we're going in the castle. Everyone else can take their merry old time discussing what we're going to do when we get inside, but we're actually going to _do _something about it."

Fred looks startled at her harsh tone. "Calm down, Ginny," he says uncertainly. "We'll go. Where's this brilliant secret passageway you've been chattering on about since Christmas?"

She pulls them over to a portrait of a young girl with long blonde hair. After a few muttered words, the portrait silently swings open to reveal a long, dimly lit tunnel. Shooting a furtive glance at the Order members, particularly her mother, Ginny climbs in and gestures at her friends and older brothers to follow. "Quick, while they're not looking!" Her mood seems to have lifted at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts, particularly under such surreptitious conditions.

Bill takes me by the hand and pulls me over to the crowd of Order members, standing in a way that would block Molly's view of the portrait if she bothers looking in that direction. She is much more intent on the bartender, however, gesturing wildly and, since she doesn't realize that there are no longer children around, hissing just loud enough to be heard, "I can't believe you let them inside the castle! I'm thankful that you helped them, I really am, but they're _children! _Why didn't you send them straight to me?"

"I tried to turn them away," the man defends lazily, "but they had their hearts set on getting into that school. Said it was for Albus." He frowns, as though this does not particularly please him. "The best I might have done would have been to Stun them, and even then they would have had to stay here. I don't know where you live."

Molly looks furious. "Is this what they've been talking about the whole time?" Bill mutters under his breath to Arthur.

"No," his father replies wearily. "At first we were discussing what to do when he shows us how we get into Hogwarts. Then Aberforth let slip that we would be going in the same way as Harry did, and, well… After Molly heard on _Potterwatch _today about their little adventure in Gringotts, she went a bit over the top." He casts her a sideways glance, and I follow his gaze; she is back in that frenzied, eccentric state. I really wish she would stop doing that. It causes an ache in my head and stomach that is both uncomfortable and disgusting.

"So what _do _we do when we get into Hogwarts?" Bill inquires, still speaking only for Arthur and I to hear. "Dean said there was going to be a fight. Is that true?"

"I don't know," Arthur sighs. "That's the issue we're trying to resolve. It would certainly seem that Harry's return would cause a stir large enough to start a battle… but is that what his intentions are? And more importantly, we don't know how many people in Hogwarts will be willing to fight. Ginny has told us repeatedly that the students have been rebelling all year, but when it comes to a fight, we can't let anyone under age risk their life." He shakes his head. "I'm grateful to know that he's alive, but Harry's return has certainly complicated things."

I have nothing to say. Frankly, I agree with Molly. The bartender - Aberforth, as Arthur said - should have made a greater effort to hold off Harry, Ron, and Hermione, even if he couldn't bring them back to the Burrow. Hiding safely in the Hog's Head would be a much better alternative to wandering the hostile halls of a school taken over by You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters.

"So I guess we've got no choice," concludes Bill. I look at him wonderingly - me and everyone else, that is. "One way or another, we've got to talk to Harry. We need to know what his game is."

Arthur just nods and says, "Well then, no sense in delaying any further. Let's all just get ourselves through that secret tunnel Aberforth mentioned, and - oh. Oh dear." His eyes have finally found the table where his children were sitting, now deserted. He quails slightly and chances a glance at Molly.

I can tell there's a tantrum coming on. Molly squares her shoulders and grinds out in a dangerously low voice, "When I get my hands on them…" Her face - no, more like her entire body - is a shade of red I never knew existed.

Delicately, Arthur puts a hand on her forearm and squeezes. "Mollywobbles," he says coaxingly, "for the sake of what's happening right now, maybe just this once, it would be best to just let it go… harmless thing really, they were going to come with us in a few moments anyway…"

He falters under the piercing glare she fires his way. He is a brave man to have spoken up at all, though rather foolish. I like to think I have enough sense not to confront Molly Weasley this way.

"Just _think _what could happen!" she exclaims vehemently, still not reaching an overly loud volume (though of course we all know she's capable of it). "What if the Death Eaters break into the Room of Requirement, hmm?"

"Can't be done," Aberforth puts in calmly.

"Oh, hush up!" Molly snaps. "We are going _now. _And so help those mischievous children of mine…"

Bill looks at me helplessly, and we have no choice but to follow his mother's storming footsteps to and through the tunnel.

I hesitate before climbing into the portrait hole. Whatever is waiting on the other side is not going to be pretty in any sense of the word. Bill and I have heard countless stories of what happened to those children who remained at Hogwarts. Though Ginny tried to make her words come out as casual as possible, any fool could realize the horror she had experienced - that the other are still experiencing.

Battle or not, I am not keen on seeing what lies on the opposite end of this tunnel. But, seeing no other option, I follow my husband and his - _our_ - family into the unknown.


	5. Silver

Still not done with chapter six, and I'm about to leave on vacation for about a week, so it could be a while, just to warn you. But I feel like I need to post _something _before I leave, and this is all I have. So, here it is!

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_Past the point of no return  
No going back now  
-The Point of No Return, from The Phantom of the Opera_

The tunnel between the Hog's Head and Hogwarts is both long and filthy; I can't decide which description applies more. Most of the time it's a blind walk, the few flickering torches set crookedly into the wall providing light for minimal space. I keep one hand secured to the crook of Bill's elbow, the only way to know that he is here and I am not walking alone.

I have always hated the dark. Hated, not feared. Other children ran to the light because they were afraid of what might lurk in the shadows. I ran with them, but for decidedly different reasons. There is little beauty in the world; none exists in darkness.

It hides that which should shine. Maybe, in moments of extreme Veelality (not vanity, never vanity) I was more upset that others could not see me than that I could not see anything else.

My heel catches on something, and I stumble with a slight shriek. It seems silly, shrieking at a small inconvenience like losing gracefulness for a single moment when on the other side of this tunnel, the fate of the world is being decided by a boy three years my junior, but for some reason I suddenly find myself trying not to sob. Bill's arm slides around my waist, and I search in the dark until my lips find his long hair, tied up in a ponytail that is beginning to come loose. I kiss the side of his head, and remind myself to kiss him properly later if we both happen to survive the prospective war. For now I lace my hand in his and squeeze it tight.

Finally, when my feet are aching and it becomes so tempting to ask Bill if he will carry me the rest of the way like a child, I hear Arthur's voice up ahead, calling, "I think this is the end!"

Within seconds, his words are followed by a sudden light, one that seems so bright after the long, unlit walk, appearing in the shape of a doorway mere yards ahead. The pain doesn't matter anymore. I hurry as fast as possible without running to get to the source of the light. I can see Bill's face beside me now, and I am unsurprised to see a familiar grin erupt, accompanied by the winking of the silver fang in his ear.

We are welcomed with open arms by faces I haven't seen in a long time, faces I haven't seen at all, faces I'd rather never see again, and not only because of a misplaced freckle. There are people here I've met whom I have no desire to speak with again since our last encounter. Whether they have changed since I saw them three years ago is something I doubt there will be time to judge.

People think I have no capacity to hate. Perhaps I don't. But I do have a talent for judging, and also a capacity to at the very least form a negative opinion. I will never forget Roger Davies and the way he fell so easily to my Veela looks and charm. At the time, it was almost flattering; now it's sickening.

It is there that my love for Bill is founded. With no one else has it ever been _real_, and at times it is as if my heart might burst at the thought that someone in this world sees beyond what the eye alone can behold.

"Harry's already gone," a sandy-haired boy I know I've seen but fail to recognize explains patiently to Arthur, who appears to age by the minute under all the stress and tension. "He went with Luna."

Arthur looks ready to collapse or throw something, I'm not sure which. "Something like _what_?" he asks in an irritable voice I've never heard him use before.

The boy shrugs apologetically. "Said he was looking for something that Ravenclaw lost. Luna took him to the common room, I think."

"And Ron and Hermione?"

At this, Ginny, who along with the twins is still being thoroughly berated by Molly for their recklessness, pipes up with her own input. Bill finally lets go of my hand and goes to rescue Ginny, Fred, and George from their mother's wrath. "They said something about a bathroom. You can look for them if you like, but I wouldn't go popping in unannounced, you never know just what you might be interrupting."

The twins burst out laughing. Molly scowls disapprovingly. Arthur sighs.

"Thank you, Seamus, Ginny," he says wearily, and turns to Kingsley beside him. "We're going to need to contact the rest of the Order, and anyone we know who might help. If Harry's really here, and Voldemort's really coming, it can only mean war, unless he's really so arrogant as to believe he can take on the whole of Hogwarts on his own. We're going to need everyone here. Not everyone available; _everyone_."

Kingsley nods. "This could be our chance. Tonight could mean the end of the war. Whether that's good for us… well, I suppose we'll know soon enough," he finishes gravely.

This room is a very strange place. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see things vanish or appear out of nowhere. A desk, complete with rolls of parchment, bottles of ink, and elegant eagle quills, is suddenly right where a smaller table with a wizard's chessboard was a moment ago. This is magic as I have never seen it before, but nobody else so much as blinks.

Kingsley is busy charming his silvery lynx Patronus to seek out the individual Order members and deliver news of war. Arthur is doing the same with his customary weasel. I've always liked that particular spell. Patroni are some of the most beautiful creatures I've seen, regardless of being magical and temporary. Silver is the color or elegance and beauty; it's rich and delicate and everything a color should be, and it shines like none other. It's always been my favorite. I may not be a master of the Patronus Charm, but I have cast it before, and I would stare for hours at my beautiful silver mare if I only had the chance.

While the adults are taking the matter seriously, tiredly talking over strategies and estimating our numbers versus those of the Death Eaters, the students who, from what I've heard, have spent anywhere from weeks to months cooped up in this mysterious room than I have a suspicion might be what they call the Room of Requirement, are excitedly chattering about the prospect of battle, some boasting about how many Death Eaters they can take down.

The ones who are slightly more down-to-earth are comparing spells with each other, wondering aloud what would be considered unethical and what spells are too minor to even bother with in the midst of war. Dean is sitting with his back against the wall with a book in hand, muttering the incantations to hexes and curses every once in a while. The sandy-haired boy, Seamus, has his arm around a little blonde girl, one of the few who looks frightened. I think privately that she's the one who has it right, and though I can hardly fault the others for being optimistic, there comes a point where the line between optimism and naivety has to be drawn, and they're bordering on that line.

I try, but fail, not to notice the bruises and cuts that all these children have in common. It looks so much worse to me than anyone else, but surely I'm not the only one who can see that this is horrific? The monsters that did this deserve to pay, and they deserve to pay dearly. How could anyone choose to ruin something that is already so fragile and flawed?

Remus has pulled Tonks to the side and appears to be arguing with her, but their voices are too low for me to catch any of it. Her stubborn look and his increasingly furrowed brow suggests she's probably winning. She still has the slightly plump look of a woman who has recently given birth to a child. I wonder if perhaps the argument is about the newborn Teddy Lupin in some way. Perhaps Remus feels the same way I do; the mother of such a young infant should not fight in such a dangerous battle.

Before long, more people step out of the portrait on the wall; Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge, Augusta Longbottom, Sturgis Podmore, Emmeline Vance, Charlie Weasley, a very disgruntled Mundungus Fletcher, and several people whom I am fairly sure are not Order members. Some bear resemblance to children in the room - parents, I suppose, who weren't able to convince their children to stay out of the fight and have resigned themselves to joining instead. Aberforth from the Hog's Head is the last to step out, looking unsure that this is where he wants to be.

Everyone is relieved to see the influx of fighters. Arthur, Remus, and Kingsley immediately step up to shake hands with the new arrivals, clapping some of them on the back and hugging old friends.

"Dedalus is coming," Hestia calls to Arthur while Kingsley engages her in an embrace that I'm not entirely convinced is platonic. "He's explaining to the Dursleys what's going on. We've been staying with them for nine months and, frankly, I still don't think they understand the whole _wizarding war_ business." She rolls her eyes.

"Oh, you must tell me what it's been like to live with Muggles!" Arthur says excitedly, bounding over to her like a puppy that's just been offered a treat.

Bill appears suddenly at my side again. "Xeno never ceases to amaze me," he says, shaking his head. I remember Xenophilius Lovegood from our wedding, and I would have to agree - that man's ideas are eccentric. I have to wonder if even _he_ believes the nonsense he spews.

"What is he saying now?" I ask, searching for him in the throng of people loitering near the portrait. His white hair reflects the light, so he isn't difficult to find.

Bill shakes his head in wonder. "No idea. Something about some nonexistent magical creature that would win this war for us in a heartbeat if we had it on our side. Honestly, I tuned out most of it."

I laugh - the laugh I despise for how fake it always sounds, no matter how genuine a reaction it is.

There's a strange silence that falls after everyone has finished their greetings and idle chat. As one they seem to have remembered that this is not a social gathering, but rather a war against the most dangerous Dark wizard the world has ever seen.

"We all know why we're here," Kingsley says quietly, but I'm almost positive everyone can hear him anyway. The blonde girl who was in Seamus's arms earlier is sobbing softly, tears gathering around her eyes, either clinging to the lashes or spilling down her cheek and disappearing under the collar of her robe. "This will be the last time many of us see each other. Look into the faces of those you love, because it might be your last chance."

Obeying his words, I look straight into Bill's face unflinchingly, taking in every scar, every misplaced freckle, every line. Most of all, I memorize the glint of his honey eyes, assuring myself that if I have to die, I can picture them at the last moment and die with a smile on my lips.

"Some of us in this room are strangers who will never have the chance to meet. Some might have children at home, too young to understand, or families who aren't magical and can only guess what will be taking place tonight. But all of us have something in common." This is why Kingsley is the right man to lead us in this dark time; even now he stands tall, seeming above all of us, delivering his speech with such passion and truth. "None of us want to live in a world where Voldemort is in control." For once, no one flinches. "And all of us are willing to give our lives to make sure that doesn't happen!"

Fred and George's bellows of agreement set off the cheers, and then the crowd begins to thin. Kingsley and Arthur are delivering the orders on who goes where. I don't know how many Death Eaters are already in the castle, or whether He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has arrived yet.

One thing I do know with certainty; the end of the war is upon us.

The battle for Hogwarts has begun.


	6. Monster

I've actually planned how each chapter is going to go from now on, so I can say with a fair bit of confidence that there will be three more chapters, plus an epilogue. And hopefully this means that it won't be so difficult writing the rest of the story!

Also, I've got a much more light-hearted fic now, called _On the Job_, so if you're sick of angst, I have an alternative for you! ;D

As always, unedited, please point out mistakes, feedback greatly appreciated... and thanks to those who have already reviewed!

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_So stay away from me, the beast is ugly  
I feel the rage and I just can't hold it_

_-Monster, by Skillet_

Flashes of light, blurs of color, bodies either rushing by too fast to see or lying perfectly still on the ground; that's all there is. It's difficult to hope that it's not all there will ever be. I don't even know where Bill is, let alone whether or not he's all right. Would I feel something if he wasn't? If he died, would some part of my soul detect his leaving the world, and rip itself out of me to follow him?

I think that's how it should work, but I won't bet any galleons or the safety of my husband that it does.

Beauxbatons did not believe in teaching its students about dark things like war and how to survive one. Only children in their final year learned anything more than pure defensive spells; our Ministry decided it was not 'proper' to teach any under-age witches and wizards curses that could be used for ill will. It did not occur to them to think that perhaps someday, it might be _useful _to know how to fight an enemy who would not care whether it was proper to use the most foul magic imaginable.

Everything I know, I learned from the Order. Bill mentored me, patient and kind and caring as I struggled with a branch of magic I was unfamiliar with. He helped me hone and perfect spells we only touched on in Beauxbatons, showed me some that would make our Defense professor faint. Once, he allowed me to practice the Unforgivables on a moth. Even for a moth, it was completely unfair.

None of that matters now. Fancy spell work isn't going to save me tonight. My only hope is in dodging whatever flies my way, and casting enough Stunning spells to keep the Death Eaters occupied.

"_Rictusempra!" _I hear someone cry. That's a child's spell, which certainly doesn't belong in the battlefield. A Death Eater erupts into raucous laughter, a laughter that doesn't match the murderous look on his face. He's snarling hideously, trying to wheeze out a curse through all the laughter.

I aim my wand at his feet. _"Reducto!" _The ground explodes, and he goes flying.

The round face of a little blond boy flashes me a grin. "Hey, thanks! Gotta go, my brother Colin's around here somewhere!" He dashes away, weaving through Death Eaters, students, and Order members alike.

"You're welcome," I say to no one, and then add with a shriek, _"Stupefy!" _One of the three Death Eaters rushing toward me falls; unfortunately, the other two don't.

They wear identical sneers as they train both their wands on my chest. "Pretty little thing, aren't ye?" one snickers. "Shame to damage that lovely skin. We'll make it quick, then, shall we? _Avada_-"

I've heard that a true Veela can become a monster on the outside as well as inside. My grand-mére says I'm lucky that it can't happen to me, because there's nothing worse than, in a fit of anger, erupting into a beast that resembles a bird on fire. I never believed it was true, having never witnessed it with my own eyes, but I can feel something rising inside of me. I refuse to die. Not here, not tonight. Whatever it takes.

I don't suddenly grow a beak. I don't burst into flames and start hurling fire at my attackers. I don't miraculously end this whole war by embracing whatever monster lives within. There is a spark, however, deep down, a sudden strength and urge to destroy this completely unbeautiful _thing _in front of me. Apparently something of this shows, because the Death Eaters now look torn between confusion and fright.

That moment of distraction is all I need.

"_Crucio,_" I hiss, and it crashes into the uglier one first, sending him to the ground, where he stays, thrashing about madly and making him look even less human than I feel. It's as if the other one isn't even there. All my hatred is focused on him for now, making sure he pays for the price of his flaws.

He begs, but I don't give him a chance. I kill thoughtlessly, as though the green light is really just that, a light, a harmless color passing through the air that will just disappear after a while. It does disappear, but only after it hits the man.

And that's when it stops. That's when I become myself again and realize what I've just done. Horrified, I raise both hands to cover my scream, not noticing my wand drop to the floor. Killing is nothing, this is a war, after all - but what I did went beyond that. That wasn't _right. _It wasn't _human. _Neither am I, but I always thought I was just a little bit more so than that.

The other Death Eater recognizes that whatever happened is over now. He still looks frightened, but now he's angry as well, and the anger is definitely the primary mood. He towers over me, menacing with his teeth bared and his eyes wild. Now I definitely notice that my wand is on the ground somewhere by my feet, and it's too late to snatch it.

"Fleur!"

"Remus!" I choke. The Death Eater whirls around and faces him. Remus doesn't hesitate before locking into battle, shooting off hexes and curses and counter-curses faster than I can think. The Death Eater matches him evenly, dodging when he needs to, using far more Unforgivables, blocking every spell that comes his way.

I won't say time slowed down, but for how short it was, it felt like I was standing there for years waiting for one to claim victory over the other. From the fierce taunts they exchange, I conclude that the Death Eater's name is Dolohov.

Finally, and all too soon, the emerald streak that is the Killing Curse flies from both directions. One soars harmlessly between Dolohov's torso and outstretched arm. The other strikes Remus in the chest.

He looks at me just before it hits, and even though I know he would never blame me, how can I not feel responsible when I watch the light leave his eyes? It doesn't fade slowly; it disappears like someone switched it off. One minute warm and brown, the next cold and grey.

But when he falls, there's someone else looking at me, the last person I would have wanted to see this happen. It's Tonks, whose Metamorphmagus abilities allow her to go so pale it's like she's dead as well, and even her hair turns whiter than snow when she sees that her husband is on the ground, never to move again.

"YOU!" she screeches, and my heart stops until I follow her gaze to Dolohov. Her hair changes magically to pure red and she thrusts a shaking hand into her robes, but while her hand gropes furiously for her wand, Dolohov sneers and performs the same curse a second time. It's strange, how her skin _gains _color in death. With her abilities lost along with her, the skin that had gone so white in grief was now only as pale as any other corpse.

That shouldn't matter compared to the fact that she's dead, but it does, because she should have at least been able to keep that much.

Now I'm alone again, and Dolohov returns his menacing look to me. I close my eyes and hope for the Killing Curse, so that when I die, _I _can remain something akin to the way I normally look.

_Goodbye, Bill. I'm sorry._

But it doesn't come. Instead there's a hiss of pain, and I slowly open my eyes to see Dolohov pulling his sleeve back, revealing the dark shape of a serpent winding its way through the open mouth of a skull. The Dark Mark, burning at its blackest. Upon looking around, I realize all the Death Eaters are mimicking the same gesture.

That's when You-Know-Who's voice infiltrates the castle and says, like he's doing us a favor, that the Death Eaters are to withdraw for an hour, and until then we can care for our wounded.

We can care for them longer than that, according to him. All we have to do is sacrifice the Chosen One. When his announcement ends, no one stops to discuss this proposal. Dolohov gives me a disgusted look, but he does nothing, only trails away after all the others flooding out onto the grounds.

I stare after him until someone calls, "Fleur!" I look to the side, already knowing who it is from the voice but hardly daring to believe it's true. It has to be true, though, because he's standing there, relatively unhurt: my husband. Except he _is _hurt; his eyes look pained, but I see no wound. Then, over his shoulder, I find it. A familiar man, sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a family with hair red like his. One of the twins. It's easy enough for me to pick out the features that define which one.

Fred.

Bill follows my gaze and nods, slowly. Then his eyes fall on a point a few feet to my left. Without looking, I know it's Remus and Tonks. I nod in return, just as slowly, and he beckons me forward.

My shaking legs lead me his way of their own accord. My body is learning to do what it wants whether my mind is able to tell it to or not, which is wonderful in situations like these, when it seems like my mind will never be okay again.

Bill has his arms stretched out and at the ready, folding instantly around me once I'm near enough. The tears have been slipping down my cheeks for a while now, but no longer are they silent. Now my whole body shakes with the sobs that are desperate to come out.

"It's going to be okay," he whispers in my ear, pressing his face against my hair, kissing it. It's completely unfair that he's trying to comfort me when he's the one who lost a brother, but I have no idea what to say about it. "I know it's not okay now, and it might not be for a long time, but it _will _be, I promise, Fleur."

Only I know it won't. He thinks the tears are because our friends are dead. Of course that's what they're for - some of them. Most of them, though, are because I'm a monster, and there's nothing I can do about it. In no sense can that ever be all right. Not even Bill Weasley can make it so.

We spend our hour trying to help in any way we can. There are bodies left to be discovered by the people still alive to mourn them, there are the mourners themselves who need as much comfort as anyone can offer with the threat of more deaths still looming overhead. And there _will_ be more; no one who has lasted this long is about to give Harry to You-Know-Who and make it all for nothing.

I avoid the other Weasleys the entire time, too ashamed to let them see my tears while they're spilling their own. Who deserves to cry the most? Someone who lost a loved one, or someone who fears they're losing themselves? It's not a question I want to ask, let alone answer.

As the minutes fall away, tension returns to the Great Hall. Everyone knows the fight will recommence soon, probably for the final time. It's late; actually, it's early, very early. I've never felt wearier in my life, and unless adrenaline does its job, I won't stand a chance this time around.

We wait in silence for the respite to draw to a close. It's been exactly an hour since You-Know-Who gave the decree, and I wonder vaguely if we're so unimportant that he's forgotten about us or decided we're not worth the effort to destroy.

A minute passes, then a couple more, and I almost murmur my theory for Bill to hear, but a voice so loud I can _feel _it speaking interrupts before I can even begin. It says four words, words very different from the ones any of us expected to hear and far, far worse. I hear those words and decide, without consulting anyone else for their opinion, that it's over. After all, no one dared to consider this eventuality. No one ever asked what we ought to do if it happened.

_"Harry Potter is dead."_


	7. Mistake

Erm. Hello. It's been a while for this story, I guess. Anyway, here at long last is chapter seven! It's not the longest chapter ever, but et me know what you think! :)

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_Don't make my mistake  
There's no time to delay  
Take my hand and learn from my heartache  
~Mistakes, by Kutless_

It's so hard to comprehend how times passes. I can remember the feeling of never-ending hours, days that dragged on long enough that they seemed more like years, and yet in retrospect it's all gone by in one big blur, fast enough that I have to squint to pick out any distinguishing aspects. Sometimes it feels like only yesterday, I stood in the Great Hall, waiting for someone, anyone, to deal the final blow. Other times, it's all a lifetime away.

Today is the last day I would have expected the sudden nostalgia. When I close my eyes, I'm there, hearing Voldemort's (it's only proper to use his name now; if you don't, it's like saying you don't think our victory was good enough) proclamation that he won.

Everyone talks about the war like it's a story. They paint a grand picture of two sides, good and evil, fighting for the rights to the wizarding world. They speak the names of prominent fighters with reverence, setting them up as untouchable characters in a legend. They make the details vague, so when they relate it to their young children, the reaction is pure awe and little horror.

Maybe that's how they see it now, after all these years. Maybe they look back on it unfeelingly, so it no longer causes a sense of discomfort. I wish I could put it in the past so effectively, but the truth is, I don't think back on it as an outsider. I remember living it, the fear and the panic and the uncertainty. I remember three sides - the ones who sought to own the world, the ones who sought to leave it unclaimed, and the ones who only wanted to make it out alive.

We were never untouchable characters. That day was a day of real people, people I knew and passed on Diagon Alley sometimes, who were afraid and imperfect, who didn't know what to do but did it anyway because it was either that or give in. No one there was a shining hero from a storybook. No one suddenly discovered a power greater than that of Merlin himself and struck Voldemort down like they would a fly. Not even Harry could claim that much, not that he ever would; from what I gathered during the conversation that took place between the Chosen One and the Dark Lord, Voldemort's death was caused by a series of actions that began a long time ago, and only some of which Harry did himself.

Although I still wonder once in a while how he supposedly came back from the dead that night. That's another thing no one ever talks about.

Today when I close my eyes, even to blink, I can see flashes of what happened then. Lights that scorched the air, blood and sweat and too many tears, ugly faces, one after another, scrunched in a thousand different ways, twisted in expressions I never thought possible.

There are sounds with the pictures. Screaming, explosions, shrieking laughter so out of place. Sometimes, Bill stops and just looks at me for a moment or two, _stares _at me, running his eyes up and down like there's something off. He's no entitlement to think there's something not right with how _I _look.

But then, maybe he's just worried. And he most certainly has a right to that.

I'm sitting up in bed, staring out the window at the raindrops disturbing the sea. Bill slides up next to me, his arms encircling my waist gently, his lips gliding over my cheek and eventually catching my own. He stops when he realizes I'm not responding, and takes my hand in his.

"You can't change what happened five years ago," he tells me, and there's something sharp in his voice. My stomach clenches; what if he's tired of seeing me like this? What if he's tired of seeing me at all? He deserves more than an apathetic wife. He deserves the girl he thought he was marrying. "Five years and nine months, even. It's your daughter's birthday, Fleur. I've made her pancakes, and there's some for us, too, but I need to know you can let yourself be happy today of all days. If you won't do it for her, then at least do it for me."

"I was not going to simply ignore my daughter's birthday!" I reply indignantly. "I am coming, I promise. Go on and be with her, I will get dressed."

He runs a hand trough his hair - which he keeps shorter now, though not by much - and kisses my forehead once before leaving. I move to my feet and don the same pale, silky robes I wore in Beauxbatons. They're Victoire's favorites, I know, and I shrank some last year to fit her.

It's no surprise when I enter the kitchen and see that she's wearing her own set this morning. Her golden curls fall perfectly against the cornflower blue. She's my daughter in every way, and that's the very thing I've always dreaded.

We never meant it to happen. At least, I didn't, and when it did anyway, I knew the consequences. There's one more monster in the world, and it's entirely my fault.

"Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione are coming today," I announce, more to make my presence known than because I feel she needs to know. Victoire looks up at me with a crinkled nose.

"Do they have to, Maman? Uncle Ron hurts my eyes, and Aunt Hermione-"

"Victoire!" I interrupt sharply. "That is no way to speak of your family!" Bill looks like he's trying hard to hide his laughter, but he doesn't understand. It's not the same as when he's making fun of his brother. She _means _it.

Because she's like me. And I have to teach her how to stop showing it.

Victoire shrugs and takes a bite of her pancakes. "It's true, though," she says, blinking at me with wide blue eyes that should be innocent but aren't. Not in this child. It's not as bad for her; it doesn't hurt her. She can look at Bill, she can accept the scars, but she _sees _them, in the way only a Veela - part-Veela - can. And when she sees things, she comments on them, in typical five-year-old fashion.

So although everything in me agrees with her, I kneel down and grip her shoulders firmly. "There is no such thing as ugly," I tell her, hoping desperately that I don't choke. "It is all in your head."

And it is, really. But it's not her fault.

She shrugs again and pushes herself away from the table, an empty plate in front of her. Bill hastily sets it in the sink, which he fills with water from a wave of his wand. Victoire chirps, "When do I get to open my presents?" Bill leads her to the den and casts a questioning look back my way.

"I will come in a moment," I say, waving him on with my hands. I gesture vaguely to the sink, the perfect excuse to delay the moment when I have to face again the monster I created. I just can't bear the thought that she will have to do what I've done all my life. I look at her, and all I see is guilt.

Bill tries to understand, but I think he thinks I hate her. I love her, more than I ever imagined I could, but if she were anyone else's daughter she wouldn't be damned.

I pour soap into the water and use a rag to wipe each dish clean. Magic would be quicker, more efficient, but that's the last thing I want. It's almost soothing, and it makes me wonder if the Muggles aren't better off. The water prunes my fingers: proof that I'm not quite perfect.

I close my eyes and see Hogwarts as I saw it last, with fighting everywhere and the sense of reality so distorted that nothing seemed impossible anymore.

Those were happier times.


End file.
